43 reasons why I am not a bogan

Okay, this blog entry requires a bit of a background.

I'm not quite sure where it started, but for some time I have claimed that I am 43 kinds of awesome. And I have promoted this at any given opportunity, such as the time that I sent my resume to Nathan for a job at his work and slipped in a little PS on my cover letter noting that they should hire me because of these 43 kinds of awesome.

This story then jumps to about a month ago, just before the first State of Origin game. I had been on a few dates with the Accountant, a guy that I met through a friend of a friend. We had been discussing catching up to watch the game, but then I came down with a head cold so sent him an email letting him know that I would be bunking down and staying in to watch the game.

His reply was not quite what I was expecting: Compared to Amanda who although a bit bogan; least she hasn’t got as many head issues and communications are normal

My reply: I don't think you meant to send this to me, did you?

He responded with a gushing email about how he actually meant to email his friend (hi Rach!), whom he had just had lunch with, and said that they were discussing me in comparison to his last girlfriend.

Regardless of the circumstances (him talking about me to others, him comparing me to ex-girlfriends, him being such an effing idiot as to hit reply rather than forward), the Accountant accused me of being a bogan because I like State of Origin.

In response I have come up with a list of 43 reasons why I am not a bogan.

1. I enjoy witty political television dramas
2. I get overly passionate about pate
3. I cook challenging international recipes
4. I live in postcode 4006
5. I set up share portfolios for my nephews
6. I have a penchant for expensive champagne
7. I always use correct spelling and grammar, even in casual or hastily written communications
8. I rave about a documentary series called Seven Wonders of the Industrial World
9. I bought a large flat screen television without the financial assistance of a baby bonus
10. I give cufflinks as gifts
11. I know the 14 different punctuation marks and how to correctly apply them
12. I pay the full balance of my credit card at the end of every month
13. I don't own a tracksuit
14. I don't have a membership to an RSL club
15. I am 28 and don't have four kids
16. I don't argue over the price of a $7 slice of pizza
17. I bought my own apartment at the age of 24
18. I abhor sneakers and jeans
19. I don't watch Home & Away or Neighbours
20. I don't have a Southern Cross tattoo
21. I don't have a t-shirt or sock tan
22. I don't ride a Yamaha Virago
23. I don't have a spoiler on my car, nor do I have mag wheels
24. I use words like "nor"
25. I don't drink beer
26. I have regional preferences when it comes to wine
27. I don't know all the words to Cold Chisel's song "Khe San"
28. I prefer to read non-fiction books, with the exception of Sherlock Holmes
29. I have travelled to (numerous) other countries
30. I have a job as a well-paid 'Strategic Communications Coordinator'
31. I know the difference between red and white wine glasses
32. I have diversified investments
33. I have a gorgeous Marc Jacobs handbag rather than a tacky embellished Guess handbag
34. I was in the First VIII for rowing for two years, and was Captain of Boats
35. I was awarded a scholarship to a private university
36. I own a marble coffee table
37. I have private health insurance
38. I don't buy my cosmetics from the supermarket
39. I don't own any Ed Hardy clothing
40. I bought my car and motorbike outright, without finance
41. I have a French friend, Charlotte
42. I wear neckerchiefs
43. I vote in elections

Feel free to leave comments with further reasons why I am not a bogan!

Liar liar

Edit: okay, so Amber's not so much a liar as I am gullible. Perhaps the title of this blog should be Gullible gullible. But it just doesn't have the same ring to it. And to be honest, each of these three stories really made me laugh, and still make me chuckle when I think about them!

This is a warning to people not to get sucked in to the untruths that Amber tells.

Firstly, we have the incident where we were at Charlotte’s birthday with all of her French friends, and Amber told them in French to excuse my behaviour because I was raised by wolves, or “large dogs”.

Then we have the numerous stories of Amber’s sister’s extremely cheeky and talented dog Scampy. Amber told me stories of how she would go swimming and he would trot up and down the side of the pool with her, or how he would put his front paws up on a ball and push it along (something that Amber does a great re-enactment of). And then the truth came out – Scampy is not a he, Scampy is a SHE! When I asked Amber about it, she claimed that she sort of thought of Scampy as a boy, so she just used to refer to him as a “he”.

But the biggest disappointment that I have suffered with Amber is the Cheese of the Week. Since I moved to London in April 2008 Amber would come home from shopping displaying her Cheese of the Week from Marks & Spencer. One week it might be a regional blue cheese, the next a seasoned halloumi. When Angela arrived I was showing her all my favourite shops, including Marks and Spencer, and went to point out the selection of cheeses and show her the Cheese of the Week but alas, we could not find it. When I told Amber this she admitted that there wasn’t an actual Cheese of the Week, it was just that she bought a different cheese each week and called it her Cheese of the Week.

These things have absolutely addled me, but Amber just finds them funny.

Croatia holler!

I have been putting off writing a blog entry about my Croatia holiday for two reasons. Firstly, so much happened that the thought of having to type it all up was daunting. Secondly, I have post Croatia depression. Honestly, it was one of the best holidays I have ever had.

Before I get started on my day-by-day account of what happened, I need to introduce the main characters.
· Moi, your favourite blogger
· Bec, holiday organiser el supremo
· Charlotte, “my French friend”, who added a bit of class to the whole show
· Mark, aka Sparky, partner of Matt and everyone’s partner in crime
· Matt, aka Matty, a source of entertainment (even when he wasn’t there)
· Stuart, aka Stu, Scottish friend of the boys and the gayest man in the village
· Alan, aka The Force (he had a range of shirts bearing the name of emergency services), Matt’s friend from Australia

And then there are the secondary characters
· Tucker’s Daughter, the Australian guy who was travelling by himself because his girlfriend broke up with him, he was everyone’s best mate and tried to be the hero in every situation. Yes, he was “that” guy on the group trip.
· Peachy, who apparently looked like Hugh Grant, though we only ever paid attention to his pert bum
· Matchy Matchy, who wore the same little board shorts as Peachy
· Five Pounder, a kid that Sparky saw at the airport and bet me £5 was going to be on our boat (Sparky, I still owe you)
· Blink 182, an emo looking guy with a lip ring who was strangely good looking
· Josh and his girlfriend Savannah, our favourite people on the boat
· Zof, our faithful bartender on board and Matty’s best friend and Charlotte’s suitor by the end of the trip
· Merv, an American guy on the other boat that had chops like Merv Hughes
· Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee, wog twins on one of the other boats that had the ugliest ponytails you have ever seen
· Emanuel, our boat, and Penelope and Labrador, the party boats – our flotilla, our Groove Armada if you like. We travelled together and moored together. The tour rep told us that in August there are 25 boats in the group (thank god we went in May).

Saturday
With less than an hour sleep under our belts (and some of us with several beers under our belts), we all bundled in to a taxi at 3am to Gatwick airport, and began the Girls and Gays cruise! Most of us slept on the plane, while others took photos of us, but we all pepped up once we landed in Split. After withdrawing some Croatian kunas (henceforth known as hakuna matatas) we hopped on the bus and headed down to the harbour to meet up with our boat, the Emanuel. On the bus trip I was talking to Sparky, and responded to something he said with an attitude-filled “Holler!” in the style of Missy Elliot. This became the catch phrase for the week. We killed a couple of hours walking along the waterfront and purchasing cheesy cowboy hats, before we boarded and enjoyed a mushroom surprise lunch en route to Hvar. Just a side note, when ever I refer to “we” or “the gang” or “hos and mos”, I mean the main cast of seven. So, we conducted our own walking tour around Hvar, traipsing up and down the back streets and taking lots of silly photos. Dinner was a quiet affair on the waterfront as we were all a bit tired, and we enjoyed our first pizza of the trip. Being so close to Italy, there are a lot of Italian restaurants in Croatia. We had an early night while the rest of the boat went out drinking and bonding until the early hours of the morning.

Sunday
The boat set off early and was all a-gossip at breakfast. Five Pounder had been jumping between boats the previous evening when he landed awkwardly and hurt his ankles. He spent the following two days in his cabin before visiting a doctor in Dubrovnik and finding out that he had fractured one ankle and shattered the other. With no travel insurance, he flew home for surgery. Anyway, mid morning the boat pulled into a calm bay and we all had a swim off the side of the boat. The water was cold, amazingly clear, and fabulously refreshing. After lunch of a strange dry mince and pasta sheets only lasagne, we arrived in Trstenik and had another swim. Sparky and I swam to shore with the aid of some cheap inflatables that we bought in Hvar, and Matty and Stu decided to swim double the distance to some (rather small) sea caves with the aid of an inflatable boxing kangaroo, whilst wearing a Bushtucker Man akubra hat. Needless to say, they got in to trouble. Matty popped the roo on the swim back, so Stu had to swim back to the boat and fetch a kid’s boogie board to rescue him. Afterwards Matt claimed that he had probably lost 2kgs during the adventure, though we pointed out that it was more than likely because he had stopped drinking beers for an hour and his beer gut had subsided. Trstenik was the smallest port we visited, with one restaurant and a shop that closed about 10 minutes after we docked, so dinner was a BBQ on the boat that night and we all retired fairly early.

Monday
By Monday we had started to settle in to a routine: get up, have cheese and salami on bread for breakfast, slather on the sunscreen, lounge on the top deck for an hour or so, head downstairs for some shade action, slather on the sunscreen, have a swim, have lunch, have a shower, slather on the sunscreen, arrive in port and sightsee. Dubrovnik was a wonderful little city. The old town is surrounded by walls, which Sparky and Bec and I walked around until we found Café Buza which sits on the cliff face and looks out to the Adriatic Sea. We met up with the rest of the gang and spent the afternoon cooling down in the shade, drinking, enjoying fabulously appropriate music (retro), watching cliff divers, and reminding each other of how awesome it was to be us at that point in time. After a shower and freshen up on the boat, we had dinner at some back alley restaurant that Matty got us dragged in to, followed by a couple of quiet drinks in an Irish pub (as is tradition when travelling with Sparky and Bec). Well, it was quiet until the rest of the freakin boat turned up and they were all crazy drunk. We stayed for a while and then headed back to the boat for a nightcap, but unfortunately Zof had clocked off. The rest of the boat partied like animals and made an absolute racket when they got back to the boat around 2:30am. The air-conditioning wasn’t working so we had our windows open, which gave me a front row to their antics. I finally managed to drift off to sleep when I was awoken by a screaching girl. Some of the boat had been drinking at the bar where Brit Lapthorn was last seen (first mistake) when they had an altercation with some locals, a glass was thrown, they tried to confront them (second mistake) and the locals pulled knives. The Aussies got in to a cab but the locals followed them, and then kept driving by the boat antagonising them. A couple of the boys decided to get off the boat and go talk to them (third mistake) so their girlfriends turned into banshees (fourth mistake), screaming for them to come back onboard (“I’ve put you in danger too many times Craig!”) and generally stirring everyone up. Fortunately the tour rep came out, told everyone to shut up and go to bed and lock their cabins, and the drama ended. Many stories were told about this over the following days, but I have no doubt that the drama was brought about because of the idiots from our boat.

Tuesday
Not surprisingly, breakfast on Tuesday morning was a quiet affair. But oh how I was falling in love with cheese and salami! We followed our standard morning routine before we pulled in to Mljet (pronounced Mlee-yet), and hired us some scooters. We lied to the man and told him that we had all ridden a scooter, before precariously pulling out on to the street and trying not to run into each other. Our first stop was the National Park, where the group had a swim in a huge salt water lake while Bec and I sat in the shade and took photos and shouted at them to perform poses. We spent the rest of the afternoon riding around the island, through little water side villages, past crumbling buildings, and up and down the mountains. It was fantastic! We picked up some drinks on the way back, had a few drinks and a swim near the boat, and watched the sun set. Then we went to one of the three restaurants and had a great dinner, where Matty entertained us with lots of PFSs (Price Family Stories). Mljet was probably the highlight of the trip; it was just an absolutely wonderful day.

Wednesday
We all woke up excited on Wednesday, because Bec had finished her course of antibiotics and could finally get her drink on! Korcula was the birthplace of Marco Polo, a fact that is commemorated by a museum that was closed and a styrofoam statue by the bay. Interestingly, the town is shaped like a fish, with the straight streets to the bay to channel the cool sea breezes, curved streets to the mountain to avoid the cold winds, and a wide straight street down the middle so that the people could run down to the bay and defend their city. The girls did some jewellery shopping (filigree, coral, and turquoise are the local trinkets) while the gays tagged along and ate ice-creams. We had a swim on the beach, which was surprisingly free of sea urchins (the spiny buggers were everywhere) but unfortunately there were still sea slugs, which Matty picked up and tried to squirt on us. Matt was hilarious, he brought along a pair of goggles and would spend twice as much time in the water as the rest of us, because he would hunt for treasure on the sea bed. All he came up with was some crappy plastic toys and a funny shaped rock, but he was pretty happy. After our swim we showered and dolled ourselves up, and celebrated Bec’s first beer on the top deck of the boat as the sun went down. Then we found ourselves a great table at a waterfront restaurant with a guy playing the guitar and had a really nice candlelit dinner. And got drunk. From there we went to a bar at the top of one of the turrets, where you had to climb a steep ladder to get up, and your cocktails were brought up in a bucket. We socialised with some of the people from the boat, and then split up as they went to Des Locos bar to make the most of happy hour and we went to Gaudi bar to make the most of being able to drink outdoors without wearing a jacket and scarf. Things got a little drunk and silly, and we had a great time, finally retiring to bed around 5am. We thought it was strange that no one from Des Locos had come to Gaudi, considering it stayed open a lot later, until we found out that people from the boat had gotten in to a massive bar brawl with some locals. Apparently chairs were being swung about, guys were doing fly kicks, and the Aussies were outnumbered. Matchy Matchy sustained a concussion and a fractured wrist and spent the rest of the holiday moping.

Thursday
Makarska was really nice, but my ability to appreciate it was limited by my screaming hangover. The mountains behind the waterfront village looked fake, and Bec claimed that they were actually made of styrofoam like the Marco Polo statue. The tour rep told us that she had been up there a couple of weeks ago and there was still snow at the top. Crazy when you consider that we were enjoying 25 degree sunshine in the port. We slept through breakfast and only woke up once we had gotten into port. Our ragamuffin group managed to get dressed and walk to the beach, where the cold Adriatic Sea revived us. Honestly, there is nothing better for a hangover than a fresh swim. We had an uninspiring lunch on the boat, before some of us went back for a second swim and some of us napped the afternoon away. I of course did the latter. We had dinner at another waterfront restaurant, as we just could not get enough of the gloriously warm weather and being able to be outdoors wearing just a t-shirt. The restful day was capped off with a couple of vodka cranberries on the back deck of the boat.

Friday
We made it down for breakfast on Friday (I wasn’t missing out on salami and cheese again), before the boat pulled in to a small port so we could have a swim at Copacabana beach. I have to say, the beach really ruined the song for me. The shore was dirty and sandy, unlike the pebbly beaches we were used to. And the water was waist-deep for 100 metres offshore, and full of sea reeds and little crabs that nibbled on your ankle. On the upside, Friday was activity day! Some people stayed on the boat, while others did a day trip to Bosnia, while the rest of us went on the river rafting trip in Cetina. After rafting in Tully and New Zealand, this was pretty tame, but still really fun. Not to mention that our skipper was hot! We arrived in Split late afternoon, back where we had started from, and already feeling a little sad at the thought of our holiday being over. We wandered the back streets and found a really nice restaurant for our last meal, where we had another hit of pag, a local cheese sort of like parmesan. The night was topped off with some drinks overlooking the bay, and then maybe another couple back on the boat.

Saturday
The last day of the trip wasn’t the best. We knew the holiday was over, and we had 12 hours to kill in between getting kicked off the boat at 9am and our flight leaving at 9pm. We stored our luggage and then set off on a hike to the swimming beach, during which Bec and I did a lot of heat-induced sighing. Then we set up camp in the shade in the park and had a little rest, while Matt and Alan decided to go on a hike around the foreshore. They walked for 35 minutes before finding a beach front bar, where they gave up on the hike and started drinking, while Sparky, Bec, Charlotte and I had a civilised and sober lunch back at the harbour. We spent the rest of the afternoon doing some souvenir shopping, eating gelato, and drinking in a little bar. With the sun still in the sky but the heat of the day passed (a glorious time of day), we gathered ourselves up and headed to the airport in a collectively sombre and reluctant mood.

I had the best tan, I mean time, in Croatia. It was a wonderful wonderful holiday, and given the opportunity, I would go back in a Split second (ha ha ha, get it, Split!).


"We're going where the sun shines brightly, we're going where the sea is blue, we've seen it in the movies, now let's see if it's true"
Summer Holiday, Cliff Richard

Gay Paris

Where to start?

Well, our weekend in Paris was brilliant! Four girls, three nights, too much wine, in one fabulous city…

Jennifer, our delightful little Parisian host for the weekend, met Amber and I at the Eurostar terminal on Friday night and took us out for mojitos while we waited for Charlotte. Then we all went to Chez Papa’s for dinner – I had an omelette (the beginning of my egg filled weekend), and the three girls had gizzard salad. Yum. Jennifer performed the most amazing reverse parallel park that I have ever witnessed, perfectly in line with the kerb and with less than half a foot between her and the car behind and in front. Amber was so impressed she took a photo, while Jennifer nonchalantly told us that that’s just how you park in Paris!

Knowing that we had a big day ahead of us, we started Saturday with a French brunch. Best. Brunch. Ever. We had croissants, granola with yoghurt, hard boiled eggs (that’s my 4th egg so far), crusty bread, ham, prosciutto, cheese, salad, and an espresso. Jennifer and I nearly had food babies afterwards, but it was worth it. Then we hit the shops, before climbing to the top of Montemartre. We barely had enough time to get home and change before heading out for dinner with Charlotte’s brother and cousin. Dinner was at a restaurant that specialised in wine, cheese, and processed meats – all the good stuff. However, I was still rather full from brunch, so just went with a salad (including my 5th egg of the trip). While the food was great, the amenities left a lot to be desired. The French refer to it as a Turkish Toilet, to Amber and I it was dubbed the worst toilet in Paris – a hole in the floor that you sort of squatted over and tried not to splash your shoes. Awful. We barely made it on to the last train of the night, with Charlotte fighting with a vending machine on the platform while Jennifer and I forcibly held the train doors open. I thought I slept pretty well on Saturday night, though apparently my teeth grinding and sleep talking woke Amber up several times.

On Sunday Amber, Charlotte and I caught the train to Versailles, where Charlotte grew up. Charlotte gave me a brief history lesson while we had brunch at a terrace café, where I had my second omelette for the trip, bringing my egg total to seven (for those of you playing at home). Then we skipped over to the castle where Marie Antoinette once lived. There was a massive line up to get in, and an even longer one for the toilet, so Amber walked the perimeter of the castle trying to find a fence to jump, but alas they were all too high. Needing sustenance to get us back to Paris, we found ourselves a little café that served nutella crepes, and I managed to order a cup of tea in French. After a quick (two hour) nap back at Jennifer’s, we got all dolled up ready for a big night on the town. The girls and I had dinner at Tokyorama, complete with a complimentary round of sake shots. Nice one! By the time we met up with the rest of our French friends and made our way to the Firemen’s Ball (the highlight of the trip) the line was all the way around the block – I had never seen so many people! Instead of waiting on the street, we had a few drinks at Coolin’. Ironically the air-conditioning at Coolin’ wasn’t working, so it was stinking hot. But the champagne was chilled, the music was fun, and the glow sticks were flying, so we stayed for a few hours. Finally, we made it to the Firemen’s Ball around 1am, but only after some devious line-cutting by Amber. It was wrong, but it had to be done. The Firemen’s Ball was actually just a massive open-air party in the courtyard of a block of buildings, and was packed with thousands of people. Within minutes of arriving, the group was separated and lost in the crowds. However Amber had the ingenious idea of standing/dancing on one of the bars, so we regrouped. Charlotte and Jennifer tried to set me up with one of the fire station’s captains, but given that he didn’t speak English and I didn’t speak French it was never going to work out… After a hilariously fun time drinking and dancing and making friends, the girls and I stumbled home just as the sun was starting to come up.

Jennifer had plans on Monday, so dropped Charlotte, Amber, I and our luggage off at the Jardin des Tuileries, a huge park in the middle of Paris. We spent the afternoon lying in the sun, drinking sparkling mineral water, sneaking into the Louvre to use the loo, and rehashing our adventures from the weekend. At 5pm we boarded the Eurostar and headed back underseas to London, marking the end of our trip with a bottle of red on the train home.

I can’t wait to go back!

A promise is a promise

Okay, so I said that I would try and do some more exciting things in an attempt to stop blogging about tubes and trivia. Well, I’ve come through with the goods. A little recap of the last week and a bit…

Friday
After a long week at work there is nothing better than a couple of drinks. And when drinking with work colleagues there is nothing better than knowing your limit and going home before you get stupid. And when going home there is nothing better than stopping in at the Atlas to have a nightcap with your roommates. Just don’t try and steal the glasses, okay? The night ended with Amber, Matt, Spark and I having Wii dance-off in the loungeroom. I’m pretty sure I didn’t win.

Saturday
As a rule of thumb, Saturday’s are for sleeping in, cleaning, washing, and shopping, and this Saturday was no exception. I also got my fringe trimmed - anyone who knows me understands what a process this is. Saturday night Amber, Matt, Spark and I got all dolled up and went to the Sugar Hut for a couple of drinks. The boys kept to those plans, but Amber and I stayed out to the early hours of the morning dancing (moi) and fighting off Irish men (Amber).

Sunday
I was surprised that we managed to get out of the house at all on Sunday. However, Amber and I made our way down to the Spanish restaurant for some late afternoon sangria. The sangria agreed with Amber, not so much with me. The rest of my afternoon was spent napping on the couch, while Amber and the boys returned to the Sugar Hut. I admire their commitment.

Monday
A nothing day, not worthy of more than this sentence.

Tuesday
Another sad loss for the Facthunt team. I’m not quite sure where we are going wrong, though dad is convinced Amber must be having a flat couple of weeks as he thinks she is the only one that answers any questions.

Wednesday
On Wednesday night I went out for some drinks with a boy. We did a pub crawl of Camden Town , Shoreditch, and Nottinghill, via Liverpool Street to check out these cool lights.

Thursday
A truly horrid day. Work was crap, I was crap, Thursday was crap. The only highlight was Katie Price and Peter Andre’s reality television show on Sky. They are my friends on Facebook, did you know that?

Friday
Remember the time that we went to the Bon Jovi concert?! Amby scored some free tickets from a girl at her work, so we organised a girls night out with Charlotte and Mel. I had the gurgly wurglies, but pushed on for the sake of this blog. We got a little lost on our way to Twickenham, so missed the first two-thirds of the gig. Amber kept reminding us – it’s the journey, not the destination! Mel and I stayed on to hear ‘Bad Medicine’, ‘Have a Nice Day’, and ‘Keep the Faith’ before we hightailed it out of there in an attempt to miss the crowds. A great night was capped off with the purchase of a cowboy hat, and the Best. Kebab. Ever. on the way home. Amber and Charlotte’s trip home was a lot more eventful, with missed trains, numerous night buses, near stabbings, and another visit to the Sugar Hut.

Saturday
We had a quiet morning at home before heading out for drinks at Embankment with the boys, and Dom and Jodie. Everyone was on the Queen Mary, a rickety old boat moored on the Thames that has been converted into a bar/restaurant. The sun was warm and the Magners were cool, though the rocking boat gave me a nasty case of vertigo. We were lucky enough to be surrounded by not only a hen’s party, but by a stag do. The groom-to-be cut a dashing figure in denim jeans with a Borat mankini underneath. Some of the guys that we were with were mocking his hairy chest, so Amber felt the need to stick up for this macho specimen. Then Dom’s boyfriend, Amit, layed an offer on the table that couldn’t be refused – if the groom took off the jeans then Amber would lick his chest. Amber, a woman of her word, carried through on the offer – absolutely hilarious! I’ve never been more proud of her. There was a little bit of mischief on the way home, as we were the only one’s on the train carriage, but I don’t think we need to go into detail as my nephews are reading this. The obligatory hamburger on the way home, before we all retired to bed at a rather respectable hour.

Sunday
I woke up early on Sunday morning to phone the fams in Townsville. Oh, and Jackie, I’m still waiting for those photos! Amber and I decided to venture out of South West London, so headed North East to Brick Lane . We had an awesome curry taster plate at The Spice Brick Lane, contender for Best. Curry. Ever! Fuelled up, we hit the Spitalfields indoor markets and had an hour of power shopping. So many bargains, so little time. I bought a scarf, some earrings, a kimono skirt, a beaded bolero jacket, a star shirt, an animal print jumper, a top for Jaala, and the most hideous dress you could ever imagine. Phew! We were in the general vicinity of Shoreditch, so decided to drop by our favourite non-local pub, the Barley Mow, and visit the gang. After a couple of extremely well priced Magners Amber and I made our way back to West Brompton . And as a bit of a pat on the back for getting out and about on a Sunday, we decided to have a jug of sangria on the way home. Such a lovely way to end the weekend really!

Monday
And that brings us to today. A day when I normally make grandioso promises about joining the gym and eating better and going to bed earlier. HA HA HA HA HA!

Longest. Blog. Ever.

The week in review

We’ve been without internet for a week, so it is going to have to be a brief roundup of recent adventures...

Wednesday
I helped Mandy and Benny move into their new apartment, so I am now officially living in West Brompton. Happiness (for a Taurus) is a bed and a cupboard in which to hang my minimalist wardrobe.

Thursday
I had an interview with another recruitment agency, and they were really positive about finding me some work that would make me more than £400 a week (damn you Michael Page!). Thursday afternoon Amber and I met up with Sarrah in Chancery Lane for some drinks with her work colleagues. After several glasses of cheap sav blanc we went to the trendiest thai restaurant in Soho called Busaba Eathai. I can’t believe I ate the whole pad thai! Anyone who knows me knows that I never finish everything on my plate – that’s how good the food was.

Friday
Amber wrote to the Australian Embassy and got us tickets to the “Service of Commemoration and Thanksgiving to mark ANZAC Day” at Westminster Abbey. I’ve been there before as a tourist, but to actually attend a service was amazing. The place was full of Australians and New Zealanders (and Peter Garrett), the choir sang beautifully, the organ music was haunting, and the service extremely moving. And clearly I wasn’t the only one affected, as Juliet noted on the way out “don’t you sometimes wish you were a nun?” Friday night we went to Mary Janes at Tower Hill for Amber’s work colleague’s 30th birthday drinks. I was very responsible, and caught the tube home with Juliet at 11pm. Amber managed to finish our bottle of champagne before catching the last tube home, so snaps for her too.

Saturday
The weather on Saturday morning was GLORIOUS - sunny and 22 degrees! I decided to do a fry up for brunch, so Amber donned her new playsuit, I put on my funemployment dress, and we walked to the Sainsburys at Fulham Broadway – along with the throngs of soccer fans going to Chelsea stadium for the game. Saturday afternoon we met up with Dom, Alex, Cat and Nicki, and went to an ANZAC Day BBQ at Maida Vale. The apartment had a huge back yard, with grass and a dog! There was two-up, snags, chocolate crackles, and Josh Pyke playing on the iPod. We met two girls from Sydney – Cate and Melissa – who were supa-fun. So much so, that I abandoned the BBQ and went out dancing in Putney Bridge with them! Don’t worry mum, I was very well behaved.... ;)

Sunday
Sunday was dad's birthday Jackie, did you know that?! And I have to admit, when I called dad in the morning it was one of the first times I've felt really homesick. Sunday was also grey and rainy, so we stayed in and ordered pizza and watched the Last of the Mohicans. Sunday night Amber and I took Charlotte to the Sugar Hut for a belated birthday dinner. The Sugar Hut is this hole-in-the-wall thai restaurant in Fulham, where you have to ring a doorbell to get in. Inside, it is rather cosy with big lounges, dim lighting, candles everywhere, and funky thai statues around the place. The Sugar Hut now ties with Busaba Eathai for the best thai I’ve had! Amber told me that on Friday and Saturday nights the place turns in to a supa-fun club at 9pm, when they push all the tables to the side and bring out a singer called Christina and a few bongo players. Expect a blog entry about that in a couple of weeks once I’ve been back!

Not as brief as I promised actually, was it!

J’adore France!

What a weekend! Nicole declared our little sojourn to Dinard, France to be the best weekend ever, and I would have to say that it is up there on the list.

Amber, Nicole, Charlotte and I flew from Stansted to Dinard on Friday afternoon for Charlotte’s 30th birthday party. The Ryan Air flights only cost us £60, which is a bargain. Though you have to put up with vinyl seats and a horrid yellow and blue interior, which Amber said screamed emergency. Amber also said that the bottle of red wine she bought to help calm her nerves (she hates flying) tasted like pigs blood. She has such a charming way with words.

We all stayed at Charlotte’s family’s summerhouse, a huge place that sleeps 14 people and has a brilliant little cubby house. Charlotte made us Brittany crepes for dinner, and then we headed out to La Palm for some drinks. The night was fairly quiet until Amber and I decided to move from vodka cokes to champagne. A few more of the party guests turned up, a few bottles of Mumm were purchased, a few too many in the car, a few mispronounced French words, you know how it is.

Saturday morning we went to the local markets, which sold fabulous fresh produce as well as clothes and crafts. I bought a scarf, some suspenders and a gorgeous vintage handbag that reminds me of Murder She Wrote for some reason.

The weather in Dinard was just as crazy as it is in London. On Saturday afternoon we were going to go down the beach and enjoy the sun, when it started to hail. Yes, people, hail. Small pellets of ice. Crazy.

Saturday afternoon everyone helped get the food ready for the party, which incidentally didn’t really get eaten until 6:30am Sunday morning when we got home....

About 20 of Charlotte’s friends came from Paris and London for the party. They were the nicest group of people I have ever met and have all been added as friends on Facebook. As the red wine started to flow, so did the conversation, and the giggles. Amber’s French is pretty good, but she took delight in misinterpreting for Nicole and me. At one stage Amber told a group of people that I was actually raised by wolves rather than people, and so to excuse my behaviour. I retaliated by telling everyone that Amber was actually a mermaid. Even stevens. The joke of the night was from Amber’s speech: pardon my French, but you’re an a**hole! The Frenchies LOVED it, and I cannot tell you how many times I heard it over the weekend.

Amber and I started cracking open bottles of Mumm around 11pm, as the red wine was putting me to sleep. And that’s when the fun really got cracking! At midnight we all piled into cabs and went to a club high up on a cliff overlooking the ocean. The 20 Euro cover charge per person was a bit of a shock until I found out that it also included several bottles of vodka for the group. We took our ticket up to the bar and walked away with three bottles of vodka, a stack of glasses, a bucket of ice, and bottles of juice and softdrink. Then we set up our own little bar in the corner and proceeded to get messy. Knowing that my mum and dad read this, I will omit any incriminating details (*cough* Nicole *cough*), but I will say that there was a lot of drinking and a lot of dancing on tables. There was also a cat fight with a 50 year old woman, after which I had to play the “oh, we don’t speak French” card with the bouncer to distract him from kicking Amber and Christelle out of the place. It was a fabulous change of scenery from London though – the French, especially the men, are absolutely gorgeous!

Sunday was spent cleaning, sleeping, comparing stories and war wounds (an 18 year old kid pinched my arm in the club), and making plans to see our new French friends again.

J’adore France!